


Breaking Brick Houses

by THE_worm



Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: (eventual) - Freeform, (mildly evil capitalism-driven science [oh no]), Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Best Friends, Bisexual Disaster, Bromance to Romance, Corporation Drama, Drunk Texting, Evil Corporations, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Homebrew Content, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Worldbuilding, bro elikar like when will you learn that your actions have consequences, cool argonian fact's, disaster of a man (playing it cool tho), like you're basically dating at this point admit it or else, lots of homebrew lore this is my c0da scratch that this is my segn0, prometheus complex, whoops! all OCs!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23244142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/THE_worm/pseuds/THE_worm
Summary: Elikar had hoped Morndas, Twelfth of First Seed, 5E 266 would be a normal day.
Relationships: Original Altmer Character/Original Khajiit Character
Kudos: 5





	Breaking Brick Houses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elikar wakes up in his Senchal apartment after getting blackout drunk, hundreds of kilometers away from where he should be right now.

Elikar’s eyelids parted unwillingly and he immediately felt a pulse of pain dart past his somewhat conscious brain. The alarm was loudly playing Tenth Divine by Liah Storm-Throat, a song he used to love, but now _hates_. He reached his arm to silence the dread-inducing melody, still half-asleep. He pressed the clock down and it made a satisfying clicking sound. His ears were ringing.

“Good morning, Elikar,” a female voice announced. “Today is Morndas, Twelfth of First Seed, 5E 266. You have nine missed calls from ‘taht bitxh’, an unread voicemail from J’irah, and fourteen new text messages. You have a meeting with ‘taht bitxh’ in Lilmoth Prosperity Tower at—”

Elikar pressed the clock down again, but this time quickly and with his fist. _Whatever_. He looked around the bed in feeble search of the sheets (that were on the floor) and moved his unresponsive body to slouch on its edge. His mouth was parched and he felt his head ache ever so slightly every time his heart contracted to pump blood through that lump of think-fat. The bed was surrounded with empty bottles of brandy and Nibenese wine— a silent retinue encircling their ruler in a coup d’etat in true Altmer fashion.

Finally, he stood upright, his knees cracking, picked up his phone that was lying on the floorboards, tossed the sheets back where they should be, and went to the kitchen to drink an obscene amount of water. Then he drank that terrible, _terrible_ bittersweet concoction J’irah told him to buy that's supposed to taste like caramel, but actually tastes like being poisoned. At least that'd ease the hangover.

Elikar turned the coffee machine on: black, bitter, evil, _Torval-style_. He didn't even like it that much anymore, it just became a morning ritual, something that helped him ground himself in the real world. After his caffeine fix, maybe he'll check his phone, but right now, he was preoccupied with watching the dark liquid boil.

With a beep, the machine released its hold over the coffee pot and Elikar poured its contents into a cup with a broken handle as small clouds of steam rose to meet his face. He rubbed his thumb over his digits and they turned deathly pale, cold visibly wafting from them. The Altmer dunked a finger into the brew and it chilled to a drinkable temperature. He took a sip and idly browsed through his phone, eventually remembering he has mail and things to check. Without much thought, he tapped on the face of a Khajiit with a wide smile and his arms around Elikar and a Bosmer woman.

“Eli-jo!” A familiar giddy voice poured from the speaker like the first rays of dawn and Elikar was smiling before he could notice. “First of all, J’irah is glad that you are back in the city, he missed your presence dearly.” Elikar missed him too, his mind reminiscing of the time they’ve spent together, the antics they’ve been up to, the soul-to-soul conversations, and occasional nights of debauchery… “And, uhm,” he dawdled, “This one thought about what you said yesterday and… Yes. Yes, J’irah would not mind, at all.” Elikar did not remember last night and, more importantly, he had no clue what he said to J’irah, a fact that made him moderately concerned. “But first, he has to make sure that you actually meant it, because you sounded drunker than an Orcish engineer and J’irah is surprised he couldn’t sense the smell of alcohol through the phone. Though, as they say, _zrajiti sunej vaba thzi_ ,” he chuckled. “You can make it to his place, yes? He wants to talk and catch up, among other things.”

 _The drunk heart is true_. Elikar’s sober heart was racing— what unapologetically stupid thing did he blurt out while he was unapologetically drunk? There was a long voice message sent last night and he played it, face muscles prepared to cringe.

It was a hopeless tangle of Ta’agra and Common Tamrielic interchanging when one couldn’t express what the other could. Mostly drunk whining: how he was lonely, aimless, sad, and all that jazz. Elikar didn’t hold onto his thoughts for too long, switching topics in bouts of intoxicated whimsy. What was constant, however, was him thanking J’irah how good of a friend he was to him and how much he missed him.

Near the end, he melted into an incoherent puddle before shutting up and then speaking in perfect, clean-cut Ta’agra: “ _Ko jer kefa ike ahzirr liskika? Zato Elikar bokakaali liski jer dorr shivata._ ” Elikar promptly buried his face in his hands as his recording stumbled across half-remembered poetry.

Last night, he basically confessed love to J’irah after a long, hazy vent over voicemail. Not a good start of the day.

Elikar was about to hit record and say something along the lines of ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, please forgive me, I was drunk, emotional, and dumb’, but something inside him hesitated. He needed some time to think about how to approach this without making an idiot out of himself or accidentally hurting J’irah.

Now, Elikar was fond of J’irah and vice versa. They were an iconic dynamic duo: a calm and confident jerk with a heart of gold and a cheerful and clever charmer with no respect for personal boundaries. Unfit of an Altmer, Elikar didn’t actually mind J’irah getting awkwardly intimate with him. He’d kept him closer than any woman in his life— they could eat from the same plate, sleep in the same bed, wear each other’s clothes, talk seemingly forever and about anything, the list goes on. They bickered back and forth like a married couple and were always there for each other if something bad happened.

It wasn’t romantic, Elikar always asserted, they were just very good friends.

“You two are like siblings,” they would often hear from friends and family, but then he would smile and politely decline: “No, not really.” And then he would remember his sister whom he hasn’t seen in person for a very long time, her utterly serene face and her perpetually cold hands, and how she used to say ‘not now’ and ‘maybe later’...

Elikar’s musings were cut off by a call from one ‘taht bitxh’ and he debated with himself if he should pick up.

“Where in Sithis’ name are you?! I’ve been raiding your phone all day yesterday, what realm of Oblivion did you lose yourself in?!” someone simultaneously very concerned and very upset hissed from the other side.

“And a good day to you, Teexla-Tei.”

“Elikar,” a sigh. “Answer the question.”

“I’m drinking coffee at home.”

“Your company studio is empty.”

“Have you checked under the bed?”

“Xhuth, Elikar, I swear to…” another sigh. “Just say where you are in Lilmoth and I’ll give you a lift to the office.”

Elikar stood up and looked out of the window of his apartment. “I’m afraid you can’t get here by car.”

“What do you mean? Are you stranded in a jungle village or something?? Want me to initiate a rescue operation?” she said in a mocking tone.

“It appears, I am at home in Senchal.”

“Wh- I- How did..?” One could hear the gears turning in Teexla-Tei’s head.

“Well, I-” he got cut off.

“You were in Lilmoth at Loredas! I cannot fathom how you managed to cross all of Argonia in one day.” She muttered an assortment of vulgar interjections in Jel under her breath. “I miss working with your sister. She had the right answers, asked the right questions, and did the right things and it all was peachy all the time. But then Mr. Nytte almost literally sold her to the Dwemer division and now she’s poking at Dwemer junk somewhere in the depths of Mzulft, while you got her position.” Her tone was almost defeated.

A short pause.

“Seizo,” she exclaimed, “I need a glass of theilul right now.”

He opened his mouth to comment on her apparent drinking problem but bit his tongue when he saw an empty brandy bottle stare at him from across the room.

“Anyway, I’ll handle today’s matters on my own, don’t worry. However,” her voice grew coarse, “you have three days, counting today, until Turdas morning to get your pretty face and ample rump to Lilmoth. Our Tsaesci investors will be arriving Middas evening to pick our bones and drink our blood and you _must_ be there on time with the rest of us.”

“And what if I don’t get my pretty face and ample rump to Lilmoth?”

“Mr. Nytte will close his eyes on your abilities and status of the trophy child of the Arlorac family and have your head on a pike which he will stab into the soil of his estate garden next to the heads of all the people who wronged him. Then he will water his petunias.”

“Ah.” Elikar understood the implications of angering Mr. Nytte. He was a gentle man, but he possessed the streak of ruthlessness needed to be an efficient leader.

“Believe me, you don’t want to be the reason Nytte is going to get stripped of the prospect of his much-desired Tsakara branch.” She took a drink of something. “I don’t care how you'll get over here. You might as well row a boat right from Senchal, denying yourself dinner and sleep, and I wouldn’t be bothered in the slightest. I’ve done enough looking after you, and I had minimal payoff from it. It’s time for you to look after yourself.”

Elikar cringed. That last sentence was what his mother used to say all the time and he did _not_ need to hear these words come from Teexla-Tei’s mouth. “I know, I know, whatever you say, TT, I know what to do.”

“Don’t,” she sounded taken a bit aback. “Don’t call me like that ever again. Oh, and Elikar?”

“Yes?”

“ _Don’t fuck this up._ ”

And with that, she hung up.

Elikar fell back into the chair, dropped his shoulders, and relaxed his jaw once he heard low beeps spill into his ear. He already had some half-formed ideas on how to cross two-and-a-half seas quickly and comfortably.

A ping. A message from Teexla-Tei.

> _By the way, I forgot to tell you that your company credit only works on the territory of the Fern-Shadow Republic until the end of the month. You’ll have to use your own cash._

Elikar groaned. Great. Hopefully, there was enough money stashed in the apartment so he wouldn’t have to petition his parents for some and see them sigh and reluctantly handle him a stack of shenjen like he’s a child and this is his pocket money. He went through some other messages— he didn’t like seeing the icon lit up.

> _Elikar, I hope you’re doing alright this morning :). Don’t forget to eat healthily, drink plenty of water, and exercise at least fifteen minutes every day. Taking care of your body will help steady your mental state. Don’t be afraid to talk about your problems: asking for help is NOT a sign of weakness._

He barely even registered Dr. Shothum’s advice before moving on to a message from his mother.

> _We will be stuck on Auridon for some time. Overseeing an important deal in Firsthold. I don’t think we’ll be back in Senchal by the time your business trip to Lilmoth ends. Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine._

They were the last people Elikar would worry about, anyway, but the Summerset Isles were highly volatile and the isle of Auridon was constantly in a precarious position which made him a bit uneasy.

Elikar scrolled past the increasingly concerned messages Teexla-Tei sent until, to his surprise, he found something sent by his sister. The message before that is seven months old.

> _I know we’re not close, but we’re still siblings. I’m sorry I didn’t get to congratulate you, being swamped in work myself, so I sent a little gift to your Lilmoth studio. It should arrive in a couple of days. Again, I’m sorry for breaking the only tradition we have._

Elikar didn’t know what to think about this so he didn’t. He’ll think about it sometime later, he reassured himself. Instead, he proceeded to skim over the news headlines, a terrible idea that yielded only dread nowadays, but Elikar could absolutely not contain his curiosity.

> _**BREAKING** : Archmagister Salayasa Braren Of Great House Sadras Blown Up On A Frost Rune._
> 
> _Salayasa Braren was en-route to the Great House Redoran capital of Blacklight on a diplomatic mission when her envoy drove over a frost rune in Redoran territory, dormant from the times of the Dunmer Civil War. Archmagister Braren was injured and suffered from severe hypothermia, but the medical officer on board was able to save her life. She is currently being treated in the First Thir Hospital in Thir, her condition critical, but stable. Could this event spark another conflict between Houses Redoran and Sadras?_

> _Maormer Forces Capture The City of Shimmerene._
> 
> _Last night, Pyandoneic Sixth Ezerze led by General Nemnymiuth broke the defenses of the notorious Altmer warlord Limilciel Caeris and captured him in his palace in Shimmerene with minimal civilian casualties and infrastructural damage. Limilciel Caeris constantly threatened the isle of Auridon and its capital Firsthold with the use of swallowtail bombs, the same ones that the Thalmor used to cleanse Lillandril 272 years ago. General Nemnymiuth has already transferred Limilciel Caeris to the Direnni to be held in the High Court of Wayrest for war crimes. Shimmerene will be integrated into the Pyandoneic Dusk Demilitarized Zone._

> _The Imperial Commune, Three Years Later._
> 
> _It’s been three years since the Rumare Upheaval when the citizens of the Imperial City almost literally defenestrated the corrupt officials and the Potentate of Cyrodiil from the White-Gold Tower, dissolving the Cyrodiilic Confederation and its flimsy hold over the region. The experts all over the world prophesized the Commune’s eventual collapse after it expelled all major corporations from its streets, but, in just three years, the new government managed to transform the city from the dystopian state it was in into a functional, prosperous—_

Elikar turned his phone off. Nope, no more Imperial City news. He downed the rest of the coffee in one fell swoop. His morning ritual was over. With a grunt, he got up from the chair and began assessing what the hell was he supposed to do.

He stretched out and let a big yawn out, overlooking the city of Senchal unfolding before him. A large, busy port lined the coastline of a sheltered lagoon-shaped harbor, only rivaled by the ports of Wayrest, Dawnstar, and the Imperial City. Orange-white highrises in the endemic to the Pelletinean cities _alikaala_ style dominated the skyline. Strict and geometric metal pylons surrounded their facades as _a’ahji_ , decorative metal elements imitating the Ta’agra calligraphy in structure and overgrown with plants, nestled in between them. But below them was the real Senchal, without any of its smug sophistication— loud, bustling, and crowded. For every bold, cutting edge skyscraper or community center in the city, there was a block of untouched, historic houses with their wide streets, but narrow, almost labyrinthine passages and alleys; their ancient thin canals dating back to the Second Era; their baffling verticality found nowhere else in the world; their rich, carved walls and window frames; their colorful tapestries and tents spread over the walls, balconies, roofs, and over the streets to provide shadow; their smell of wet stone, coffee, and spices.

Having decided that he’s had enough of the scenery, Elikar scuttled into the bathroom like a disgruntled crab. He took a glance at himself in the mirror and (by gods!) did he look terrible. It looked as if all the moisture exited his face at once last night, the fact that it didn’t shrivel up like a raisin seemed almost improbable. The black circles around his eyes made it look like they’re sinking into his skull. His braided hair was barely keeping it together, frozen in the shape of a wave about to crash into a rock. At one point, there was a ribbon in between the locks of hair, but Elikar had no idea where it was now.

He sighed and began applying various cosmetic products to his battle-weary skin. In the end, he managed to bring back its golden luster, but it still wasn’t enough to conceal that his body suffered from mishandling yesterday.

Elikar reached for a small see-through box full of assorted pills. He put one into his mouth and it started violently bubbling up, filling it with overbearingly mint-flavored foam. He stood with his cheeks puffed for around half a minute before spitting it out. It was less pleasant than just brushing his teeth but much faster and effective. The ad was atrocious though. He suppressed the urge to shudder as he recalled the children singing off-key about teeth for a lot more than should be morally acceptable.

Elikar waddled back to his bedroom and sat on the bed, contemplating his course of actions. He fumbled around with his words while chewing the insides of his cheeks and holding his phone in his hand. He grunted, frustrated. Usually, his words were sharp like a dagger, but he spent too much time sharpening it to a point and now it snapped. Finally, he gave up and threw the phone at the mattress. He traced the route to the airport in his mind, imagined the various punishments Mr. Nytte has in store for him. He bit his lip and made his way to the closet.

Monotonously, Elikar fished out his go-to attire: a pair of baggy brown pants so his legs don’t melt off and a white button-up with floral patterns, nothing fancy this time, he wasn’t feeling it today. He put on a bunch of colorful woven baubles on his arms and a simple necklace with black wooden balls on a red string that resembled a rosary and sometimes gave him a couple of odd looks around temples.

He paced around his apartment for some time, checking the weather forecast, the map of Senchal, the traffic jams, and also many other things that he had absolutely no use for and he knew it.

Eventually, Elikar put an end to this awkward, panicky intermezzo and went for the exit. He gripped his phone tightly and hit the record button as he crossed the door.

“Hey, I’m on my way,” he said, perhaps a little too loud. “I’ll be there in around half an hour, I think? Can you put your tea on for me? That would be great.”

And J’irah was already recording a response.


End file.
